All Apologies
by Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03 read that . Good graces are often given to those with persistence. Erik tries to get Raoul to forgive him.
1. It Starts

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash, angst   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 1,033

A/N: Here's a req by Kittendragon. It's extremely late and I'm not sure if it's quite what she wanted, but it's something. I'm trying to catch up on fics I started and owe but have not gotten around to posting. So apologies all around from me.  
><span>Story note<span>: As stated in the summary, it's Erik from Gallery Piece trying to get back in good graces with Raoul. Good luck with that after having kissed Christine. D:

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 01 – It Starts

o.o.o.o

Erik allowed Raoul to leave without any further confrontation only because he was certain that stopping him now would only further exacerbate the situation. If he hadn't just confirmed Raoul's fidelity and the sincerity of his emotions, Erik would have actually believed him when he'd said "I despise you." It would not have been the first time those words had been directed at him. Now though, he knew that the blond was simply overreacting. Once he remembered that Erik had only kissed Christine for their sake, he would calm down. Then, tomorrow, they would continue with their relationship.

Except, Raoul did not return the next day. Nor did he return to the opera house the day after. In fact, the patron of said opera house had not been able to bring himself to even lay eyes on the building, much less be within its walls.

For all intents and purposes, Raoul knew he should be angry. And, he was. He would even go so far as to say that 'angry' was an understatement, but it wasn't as simple as anger. His dealings with the ghost could never be considered simple. After all, if he were simply angry, the obvious response to Erik's test would be to leave him for toying with his emotions so deliberately. However, a part of him wanted to be happy that Erik had, in his own twisted, convoluted manner, proven that he loved him.

He definitely did not trust that part of himself, wondering just how much it had been twisted by his daily dealings with the opera ghost. Infidelity should not reveal how much love a person had. Rather, infidelity should reveal how _little _a person was committed to a relationship. Not in this case though. No, Erik cared for him enough to set a trap and manipulate Christine. In a way, he had manipulated them _both_ and then had the gall to be relieved when he received what he considered a favorable outcome.

The urge to scream arose every time he thought about it.

Despite his confusion though, Raoul did know one thing for certain. It hurt, physically pained him. It was an ache that spread from his chest to his limbs and made him lose any semblance of hunger at the briefest thought of that day. It did not matter what Erik's intentions had been. Seeing that, seeing them do… he couldn't even finish the thought within his own mind. It had wounded something vital to _them_ and Raoul wasn't sure it could be repaired so easily. He did not know how and with his current indecision, did not know if he _wanted_ it to heal.

Still, he found himself unable to stay away from the opera house when the managers requested his presence. He waited until early evening when he could beg off staying too long. He maintained a strict focus upon arriving. He refused to look anyone else in the eyes, to allow his gaze to wander to dark corners of the opera house, or to allow any noise to divert his path. So focused was he on crossing the stage to reach the managers, who just so happened to be spending the afternoon watching the dancers, he failed to notice a note flutter down from one of the catwalks.

One of the stagehands picked it up, all the while looking up for any telltale signs that the ghost was still present. No one was there, and the man only felt relief that he had been unable to catch sight of him. The terror of the opera house had been rather irate these past weeks, actively frightening anyone who had the misfortune to be alone. It was apparent that something had happened and the only difference as of late had been the viscount's absence. Everyone knew that the managers had specifically called the blond here today in order to speak about this matter.

The stagehand looked at the note with poorly concealed trepidation, as though having it in his possession would call upon the wrath of the ghost, before chasing after the viscount. Tapping him on the shoulder, he thrust the note forward, wanting it out of his hands as quickly as possible. "Vicomte."

Raoul turned, making certain he was smiling politely. It would not do for him to be ornery to people who did not deserve it. He took in the man's countenance before slowly accepting the note, already knowing from whom it was. The stagehand stood there, waiting. In fact, Raoul glanced around the stage; everyone seemed to have stopped what they were doing just to watch him. There was little doubt within anyone's mind that it was from the opera ghost.

Considering his options, Raoul was rather surprised by how angry he was by this spectacle. He should have expected Erik to contact him, but doing so rather publicly made the decision for him. He ripped the note into small pieces and tossed it on the floor.

Despite the humour he should have found in the collective gasp that seemed to sweep the stage, he did not feel any better for having ignored the note. He just became more certain that he should not have returned to the opera house so soon.

All eyes were on him when he continued his way to the managers. "What does this meeting concern?" His voice sounded loud in the sudden silence that had descended.

Both Andre's and Firmin's mouths were hanging open.

Andre's face had gone pale. He spluttered, "I – Did you just…?"

"Do not waste my time," Raoul cut him off gruffly. "If there is something we need to discuss, then let us discuss it." He strode off stage left without waiting to see if the managers would follow him. His rapt audience was grating on his nerves.

The managers followed after Firmin left the others with some hasty words. "Just… continue rehearsal. I'm certain nothing will..." He waved a dismissive hand at them. All the while, he was ducking, eyes cast heavenward, "Ah, just continue." He had had to pull Andre up from the ground from where he had been trying to piece together what had once been the opera ghost's note.

o.o.o.o

End ficlet

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: And damnit, it started as a oneshot, but I realized the potential it had and have broken down and resolved to do a quick multi-chaptered version of it. (Emphasis on hoping that it's _quick_)


	2. Christine

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash, angst   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 1,120

A/N: Slightly rushed editing because I already missed my deadline for this. Sorry. Just poke me if you see something unsightly in terms of grammar or spelling.  
><span>Story note<span>: This'll probably less serious than it should be (at least that's how it seems to be turning out). There is angst of course. It's me after all. I may have been absent for a while, but I couldn't have changed that much.

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 02 - Christine

o.o.o.o

Raoul had not yet reached the managers' office when they hastily caught up with him. "About what is it you wished to speak with me?" His voice was clipped as he gave them the barest of glances. His pace slowed only marginally in response to their breathlessness.

"Please," Andre begged, clearly out of sorts, and Raoul was unkindly pleased to see it. He was tired of the ghost getting his way, tired of Erik's ability to manipulate everyone. He was tired of being just another pawn, something from which he'd had the misfortune of deluding himself into thinking he was exempted. The manager continued, cutting off any self-recrimination that he might have chosen to linger upon, "You must try to avoid provoking the ghost."

Raoul ignored his statement, not deeming it necessary to acknowledge. He was not the one doing the provoking. "You said there was business."

"Yes," Firmin interjected. "Of course there was an incident this morning regarding…" he frowned as he floundered to find a suitable excuse. He had already forgotten under what pretense they had tricked the viscount into coming to the opera house. There had been mention of money of some sort. He looked to Andre for help, but the other man simply shrugged and blurted out.

"The ghost."

Raoul abruptly stopped walking and the managers ran into each other in the attempt to avoid a collision with their patron. "It is clear to me now that we will be getting no business done tonight and that my presence is no longer necessary."

"But, you see –" Firmin started. He thought of all the damage and accidents that had become part of their daily life. There _was_ money involved, but he knew that bringing to ghost into the conversation would only incur a different kind of wrath from the young man before him.

Said young man stated firmly, "So, I will be bidding you a good night, gentlemen." Raoul politely bowed, leaving no room for argument when he turned away from them.

They could only watch as the one person that needed to remain in the opera house for the continued safety of its occupants quickly strode away from them. Their suspicions had been confirmed though. The opera ghost's changed behaviour was due to the viscount, more specifically his continued absence. For while he had been away, there had been no notes. There had been no warnings of any sort before things had simply become worse, and as such, there had been no way to even attempt to appease their spectral tormentor.

Now, a means had finally presented itself.

Raoul was nearly out of the opera house. His mind was already out of the building, desperately running away from this place when someone grabbed his arm. He turned, ready to dismiss the managers for their persistence when he saw that it was Christine. The rebuke died in his throat. She must have been waiting for him to finish his meeting with Andre and Firmin. He contemplated simply walking away from her immediately. Instead, all he did was shrug her hand off his arm.

"Raoul," she looked at him uncertainly, eyes too wide, too plainly hurt, "what has happened?"

"Should you not be rehearsing?" he asked coldly. He had had his opportunity to yell at Erik, and even though that had not made him feel better, he still struggled to keep himself from lashing out at her as well and he knew yelling would be the least of his worries.

She must have recognized something in his gaze or perhaps in the tone of his voice for she quickly distanced herself, just barely out of reach. Her scrutiny of him only increased. "That day," she looked around, but there was no one else in the foyer that could be seen.

Raoul had a moment to think that there was never anyone to be seen or heard, but that hardly meant there was no one present.

She continued hesitantly, "I do not quite remember what happened. One moment, I was waiting for you and the next…" tears began to form in her eyes, and Raoul almost hated that he could not hold onto his complete abhorrence for her much longer. He knew he had cleared her from blame the very same day the incident had happened, but it was so very easy to do otherwise.

"When I awoke, I was alone. It was like waking from a dream." She held onto his arm again, needing to anchor herself to the moment lest she be swept away into the nightmare of those lost hours, and Raoul did not have the heart to brush her hand off again. His skin crawled from where she touched him though and the scene he had walked in on flashed before his eyes.

It suddenly occurred to him that even though in his heart, he knew her to be blameless, it did not diminish the revulsion he felt at her touch or the resentment he felt when merely looking at her. She had been the cause for jealousy all along, not only for Erik but for him as well. The truth was that he hated himself and Erik more than he hated her, but now was not the time for this confrontation to occur.

Christine finished with conviction, "_You_ know what happened." Even though her voice had been even, her eyes pleaded for him to dispel her fears. She was trusting him, a trust misplaced for the time being.

His jaw clenched as he looked at her. "Your virtue is safe, Christine." His own voice was terse, but he could not force it to be anything but, "I can assure you, I…" he pressed his lips together tightly as he sought for the right wording, "When I arrived, I was able to draw the ghost away before anyth-" he could not finish. How could he finish that sentence? Before anything _too unsound occurred_? That anything occurred at all was detestable.

She slowly stepped away from him again and this time he knew it was not temporary. She would not be pressing the subject again, at least not so soon. He wondered if this time she had actually heard the hate in his voice because she frowned and seemed to pull into herself, hugging herself. More weary than he had ever thought possible, she said quietly, "It isn't safe to be angry with the ghost."

"The ghost," he swallowed convulsively, trying to ignore the persistent self-loathing he felt at his own behaviour towards her. He never wanted to hear her sound like that again. "He will have to become accustomed to my anger." He bowed curtly before leaving, unwilling to see her expression any longer.

o.o.o.o

End chapter

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: I feel bad for Christine really. She's been a pawn so far (but who hasn't been); she hasn't even gotten to the bitter/vindictive mindset (as she does later on in Gallery Piece). That 'this'll be less serious' doesn't seem to be taking affect just yet.


	3. Francois

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash, angst   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 2,433

A/N: Just barely finished the outline for this over the weekend and I think it's going to hit 11 chapters. So, it seems, you have me for at least about another 8-9 chapters. Also, apparently a week of playing hooky does put me behind somewhat.  
><span>Story note<span>: Erik better step up fast because this rift between them is just going to get worse if something doesn't change. I'm sure Raoul's not about just up and forgive him (as well he shouldn't).

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 03 - Francois

o.o.o.o

The air outside the opera house somehow seemed fresher than he remembered it being. Maybe this was just the first real breath he'd taken since stepping foot inside the building this evening. He was much relieved to see his open carriage was waiting for him right outside. He hated to think just who else might be able to catch up to him had he needed to wait for it to be brought around. The driver, who was hunched forward on the perch to protect from the chill of the night, started a bit when Raoul alighted before anyone could help him up and slow his speedy escape.

"Home," he ordered immediately.

The reins snapped and the carriage jerked forward. As the opera house disappeared out of sight at the next corner, Raoul struggled against slumping against the seat lest anyone see the action. He had expected something else to have happened, or rather, he had expected some_one_ to have stopped him and didn't know whether he should be happy or disappointed that he had been able to leave unmolested. It was not as though the ghost had not attempted to speak with him. There was that note.

Of all the rash things he had done in his life, he was certain that none was as careless to his continued well-being as ripping up that note. However, he mentally scoffed, if Erik really did love him, then his life shouldn't be in mortal peril. He gritted his teeth in frustration; then again, this _was_ the opera ghost. The fact that he was forced to make such distinctions only proved how inappropriate continuing the relationship was and made him question his continued indecision regarding his official reaction to the incident. He should know whether he wanted to forgive Erik at all. Was such a thing worth it?

It wasn't as though he couldn't remember the bruises or the rope burns he'd obtained when he had visited Erik's home in the beginning. He had been dismissed and openly scorned when all he did was want to be near him. He hadn't known how such a change had come about. It was Erik who had first chased after him, who had discovered his feelings and made his intentions known in the cemetery. What had changed? The better question would be why had it changed at all? Raoul wished so desperately to go back to the time when he believed all he'd ever done in his life was love Christine, that his love for her was all he had ever wanted or needed.

Releasing a sigh, Raoul found himself once again bemoaning his decision to go to the opera house at all despite the manager's request. It had gone almost as well as he had imagined it would. Even though he refused to be anything but satisfied with his decision to tear Erik's note, if he thought of it, now that the managers had failed to properly speak with him, he would have to return to settle the 'financial issues' that had supposedly arisen. It was always financial issues when it came to them.

"I do believe you hurt Mademoiselle Daae's feelings."

Lost in his thoughts, Raoul had almost missed what the driver had said. It was more the voice than the words that had caught his attention though. He glared at the man's back. "Erik." He noted that the masked man sounded less angry than he had expected in response to his audacity.

Instead, the man had the gall to glance over his shoulder to smirk at him.

"What-" Raoul stood up and almost immediately fell when the carriage slowed to let a couple cross the street in front of them. He was certain Erik had done that on purpose. Making his decision quickly, he took the opportunity to jump out of the carriage, intent on walking home. He had nothing to say that was worth the aggravation.

Erik was completely undeterred by his sudden departure. He simply left the carriage where it was in the middle of the street and followed him, ignoring the indignant cries of the others caught behind the now emptied carriage.

Raoul refused to slow down. He did briefly wonder when the ghost had grown so bold as to not care that he was walking in public even if it was nighttime and his face was covered with a scarf and the brim of his hat. Erik easily caught up since he refused to do something as undignified as run; he remained a pace or two behind him though. "Had I known that was all it took for you to stop speaking with her," he commented blithely. Raoul did not miss the underlying tension in his words though, "I would have done it sooner."

It was difficult not to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and cause a scene. As of yet, no one had given them a passing notice ever since that they had left the vicinity of the carriage. Raoul wanted to keep it that way. His business was not the concern of others and surely, Erik must realize his life was in danger. As much as he was furious at the callous man, Raoul did not wish to see him dead. He was about to concede for just a moment, stopping to tell Erik that this was not the appropriate venue to hold a conversation, only to find that he was alone.

He turned, searching for any sign of him but knew if Erik did not wish to be found, he would not be. Shutting his eyes briefly to calm himself, he tried to sort his feelings. He nearly laughed at himself. It would take more than a moment to be able to do so, and instead of standing there like some lost child, he headed home at a considerably slower pace.

The ache of seeing both Christine and Erik, albeit apart, today still stung. He halfheartedly chided himself for his treatment of Christine. Erik will have managed to accomplish a two-fold outcome if he continued treating her as such. Next time, he promised himself, next time he would start small and perhaps try to look at her without grimacing. He hoped _next time_ would not occur too soon.

Erik, on the other hand, he decidedly cursed for his stupidity, for the fact that as with all things Erik did, there revealed a deeper insight to his nature that Raoul would have to examine before he could even hope to respond honestly. It was in the nuances: the unspoken, unheard, mostly unseen, seemingly ignorable aspects of his actions that truly explained his true intentions. It was the nuances that told Raoul Erik loved him; the masked man had never said anything resembling such sentiment to date. As such, even though he was reluctant to have come to such a conclusion when its basis could be completely due to his imagination, it was truly all he had.

A sword to his throat had been a proposition. The bruises on his neck, the scrapes on his knees and hands, were caused purely because of disposition, but the resulting care for said injuries had been a sign of consideration. Raoul purposefully avoided thinking about what infidelity meant to the man.

This time, there had been no obvious sign of anger when such an action from anyone else would have certainly incurred not only his wrath but some sort of retaliation. Erik had not even mentioned the note that had been ripped, and he had even braved going outside. Raoul was too tired and still too angry to try to understand what Erik meant by doing such things. It would have been easier, if not less painful, had they simply argued. That, he would have at least understood.

He slowed as he approached his front door. The carriage was there and beside it were his driver and butler conversing. Looking at his driver, he did not know how he had confused him and the opera ghost. His cloak was certainly not that large nor was it actually the coal black that Erik's had been. Instead, it was a dark, navy blue. Even the style of his hat differed. It was truly discouraging to think that he had been so preoccupied as not to notice such things when one of the biggest lessons he had learned from his interactions with the opera ghost was observation and vigilance.

He was about to inquire about the carriage when the butler noticed his presence. The older man bowed and held out a note for him. "A curious gentleman said it was urgent."

There was no seal on this note. "Was he the one who also returned the carriage?" Raoul asked, suspicious regardless.

The butler shared a look with the driver before nodding.

Jaw clenched, Raoul grabbed the note and stormed past the two, heading directly for the sitting room. He knew the others had followed him, but he ignored them and focused on stoking the fire. Once the flames were high enough, he tossed the note in and spared only a moment to make sure it caught fire. He dusted his shirt of nonexistent lint and cleared his throat before turning to address them. "It was not urgent." He needn't explain, but even he knew his behaviour was odd at the moment.

"Dinner will be ready soon. We had not expected your return," the butler's voice was flat and completely impassive. Raoul knew that he would certainly be the subject of the household's gossip mill for a while. Still, he couldn't blame them.

"It is quite alright," he replied. "My return _had _been quite abrupt." The butler bowed before leaving. The driver, however, still lingered by the doorway. Raoul held out a hand to invite him to enter the room. "Are you well?" His concern was genuine. In fact, he felt quite chagrin to think that he hadn't for a moment spared a thought about what may have happened to his driver. Erik had overridden even common courtesy it appeared; the masked man had a tendency to consume all his thoughts.

"I am…" the driver rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "well. He grabbed me from behind and tied me up." Immediately, he ducked his head, unable to meet Raoul's eyes. "Please forgive my inattention. Your life…"

"Was in no immediate danger," Raoul finished, and he was pleased to think that he hadn't needed to lie to assuage his servant's fears. "There is no reason for you to apologize." The other man looked completely unconvinced. He still would not look up, instead focusing on worrying the hat between his hands. Raoul continued, "How did you come to be here, if you do not mind my asking?"

"A man from the opera house found me and untied me."

Raoul was beginning to think that his hesitancy was thoroughly overblown. Nothing unsound had occurred and he had been frank when he had said there was no need to apologize. Still, he held his tongue; there had to be a reason why he lingered so.

"I headed directly for the police station to inform them what had happened," he looked up then, as though to make Raoul understand that he had tried his hardest to retrieve his employer. Raoul had not doubted it for a moment. He did wonder though if he should inform his servants that when the opera ghost was involved, it was probably best never to involve the officials. _They _may know that the ghost existed, but the police would hardly take their word on it.

"But I never made it."

Raoul's train of thought stuttered to a halt. "You never made it?"

The driver looked down once more. "I saw the carriage." He cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. "I have a message from the opera ghost."

That explained a lot. Raoul shook his head firmly. "I needn't hear it."

A grimace was his response, and the man looked near tears with indecision. His eyes glazed over for a second before he took a step forward ready to speak once more.

"He threatened you," Raoul cut him off. It was not a question; it was never a question when Erik was involved.

The driver nodded, adding quite vaguely, "Creatively."

Raoul narrowed his eyes at the thought of how creative Erik could be. He asked, "How is your wife?"

"Eight months," the word caught in his throat, "Monsieur."

"Yes," Raoul tried to smile but knew he failed at the thought of this man's family. "Please continue then."

The man took a deep breath in, gathering his courage. "This is word-for-word the man's statement," he prefaced his speech. Still, it took him several moments before he began, "It was quite unfortunate that you were inconvenienced by your own stubborn -" he stopped when Raoul made a noise of discontent without even realizing it. "Sorry, Monsieur Le Vicomte, but he promised…"

"No, no. I had not meant to interrupt," Raoul said through clenched teeth. He wondered if Francois would have another girl or if they would finally get the boy they so desired. "Please, do go on."

Opening his mouth, the driver exhaled before frowning. "I should not do this. He, that man, is-"

"I demand you relay the message immediately," Raoul retorted, voice harsh and leaving no room for argument. The driver still hesitated. "Now," Raoul intoned. He rarely spoke to his servants as so, but he did not hesitate in this instance to do so.

Not willing to start again from the beginning, the man muttered to himself before reaching the point where he had stopped, "… own stubborn, bull-headed decision to vacate the carriage and subsequently be forced to walk home. As such, we were unable to hold a proper conversation." The driver took a deep breath in before finishing quickly, "Do learn some self-control… in all matters of your behaviour." He winced as he finished.

"Was that all?" Raoul inquired, his voice deceptively quiet.

The man nodded mutely.

"Thank you," Raoul strode past him, "for your service." He paused at the bottom of the stairs, the driver only a couple of steps behind him.

"Vicomte?"

"Please inform Henri that I will not be taking dinner tonight." His hold on the banister tightened. "I have lost my appetite."

"I am sorry," the driver was quick to say.

"No!" Raoul looked over his shoulder, voice softening, "It is not your doing. It has simply been a long day."

The driver looked wholly unconvinced, but he bowed regardless. "Yes, Monsieur. I will tell him."

o.o.o.o

End chapter 03

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: I hope you were all, "Who the hell is Francois?" ;3 That's just me having some fun at your expense, and it's the only chapter really like it. His name is only mentioned once here too, on purpose even though I had wanted to use it multiple times. (I'm not very fond of this chapter actually.)

In other news, Erik and Raoul at least had a brief meeting. Erik doesn't seem completely unhinged that Raoul had ripped up his note (although he does end up censuring him for it later and of course, threatening one of his servant's life). One does end up wondering what he had written in it in the first place. I feel bad for Raoul here.


	4. It Gets Worse Or Better

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash, angst   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 2,254

A/N: I have decided that I hate multi-chaptered fics completely.  
><span>Story note<span>: The title depends on your perspective of course.

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 04 – It Gets Worse (Or Better)

o.o.o.o

Trudging up the stairs, Raoul tried not to focus on the overwhelming fatigue that weighed him down. Maintaining the type of anger he felt towards Erik was proving to be, if not difficult – because his anger came all too easily, but taxing. He knew a part of that might be the fact that he had been eating quite irregularly and sleeping even less as of late; the very thought of food was unsettling though. Perhaps his appetite would return by morning after, hopefully, a long rest. It helped that he had no plan to return to the opera house just yet.

Unbuttoning his jacket and vest, he continued to loosen his cravat. Upon entering his bedroom, he began shedding his clothing haphazardly. He was halfway through removing his shirt when he noticed the note on his bed. Letting out a quick groan of frustration, he snatched it off the bed and tore at it, bits of paper floating almost lazily to the floor as opposed to the frenzy with which Raoul ripped it.

"It is quite rude to destroy all my notes."

There, Raoul finally heard it, there was the anger at being defied coming from the opera ghost himself, and he finally felt himself relax in a way that did not relieve any of the tension that had been building. He did not relax, so much as he felt a dam being lifted, a dam on his emotions, on his ability to finally release his anger openly because _Erik_ was finally reacting.

He turned to the balcony from where the voice had come, body aching for a confrontation. He wanted to say all the things he had failed to think of when they had first argued after the incident. The door was ajar and Raoul approached it cautiously, not trusting that they were going to be able to avoid violence in this encounter. He did not expect anything less. There was nothing but shadow until Erik moved from behind the curtain, not at all from outside from where Raoul had heard the voice sound.

"It is also quite pointless to write notes if you are present," he said pointedly. He sneered upon seeing the man, who despite all that had changed between them seemed the same. He himself felt too changed to resemble the man he was once, so different from the visage he saw in the mirror. Not the man who had loved Christine, nor the one who had fallen for the opera ghost.

"Oh," said opera ghost took a step further into the room, prompting Raoul to move further away. "Truly? And when did such an occasion to speak with you arise?" Erik rose to his full height, trying to look imposing, but Raoul had seen him in worse roles than a supposed jilted lover. "When you were avoiding the opera house? When you simply removed me from your life without a second thought to become naught but an abandoned memory?"

Raoul could not help it; he laughed. Loudly and unabashedly because the very thought that he could have forgotten Erik in the past few days was absurd. It would take at least a lifetime to stop thinking about the man and much more to succeed in forgetting him if it were at all possible. "I ask you," he said, remnants of his laughter darkening to something mocking, "Do you have selective memory?"

Erik moved further into the room, and Raoul could not help it when he, in turn, moved away from the older man. He told himself he wanted to stave off a physical altercation until after they each had spoken their piece, but he had a sinking sensation that that was not the case.

"What have I done?" Erik challenged.

His question was enough of a surprise that Raoul blurted out, "What _haven't _you done?"

His eyes narrowed at the accusation; his body tensed even as he tilted his head slightly, a motion that should have seemed casual. "You," the word was quiet, the low mutter of a man barely able to keep from yelling. "You seem to be working under the assumption that I have done something wrong." He finished, voice suggesting that Raoul take the alternative he was so graciously offering, "Unless you are simply being unreasonable."

Raoul's mouth hung open for a moment while he tried to process what Erik had just said to him, fury warring with disbelief. He did not even know where to begin to refute his statement. "Not only have you threatened my driver and his family, but you essentially kidnapped him and -" Raoul stopped himself from listing the large number of faults that had immediately sprung to mind. Instead, he focused on the one that had been the start of their downfall, "Do you truly fail to remember what had transpired before my apparent bout of _unreasonableness_ began?"

Avoiding the question, Erik stated instead, "I needed to ensure that he would deliver the message." He added blithely, "His family still lives."

"Listen to me right now," Raoul pointed to the floor and the ghost was actually stunned to hear him so adamant or else he would have rebelled against such a direct order. "Leave my family," he met Erik's eyes unflinchingly, "my staff and their family alone." He paused to let the statement settle before adding, "This is non-negotiable. If I hear any word to the contrary, I will not hesitate to kill you myself."

And Erik found that he did not doubt his statement. Beyond the indignation at being told what to do, he was confused at the feeling that had arisen at hearing the blond speak to him as such. It took a few moments to figure out that he vaguely felt _proud_ of Raoul, in his tenacity and strength; proud also in himself that he had managed to garner the affection of this singularly loyal man. He was certain, had the situation been different, that he would be within the circle of Raoul's consideration.

Erik decided right then that he would accept no less than what Raoul was offering; he needed an equal in all things and the viscount had proven and was still proving to be well-matched. This was a man he could eventually trust with his life, not only to value but also to defend against others. His obstinacy suddenly appeared in a different light and though some annoyance was still present, much of the fury at Raoul's impertinence was simply gone.

Not letting Erik fully assimilate his moment of revelation, Raoul interrupted his thoughts when he redirected their focus. "What you did that night was…" he hesitated, not knowing how to finish his sentiment: wrong, horrible, the end of them?

"Yes," Erik replied dismissively, annoyed that they were back to this subject when he had finally moved beyond just a simple fixation on having Raoul, beyond even trusting him. He could not understand why the viscount was making this so difficult when it had all become so clear to him. "I made certain you were not dealing with Christine in anything less than appropriate behaviour."

"You kissed her!" Raoul shouted. "Can you not say it? Can you not admit it?"

"Of course I kissed her," Erik shouted as well, wondering briefly if he was intentionally being obtuse. "How else-"

The rest of his sentence was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door. "Vicomte!" The door shook with the force of it, and Raoul truly expected them to simply enter. Erik apparently did too because he was at the balcony doors almost immediately. "Are you in need of assistance?" There was the sound of bodies shoving at each other at the door and the mutter of words. The door remained closed though, as if they knew he would not appreciate their interference.

Raoul calmed fractionally, chiding himself for yet another instance of such lack of control. He glanced at Erik, who gave a slight nod in wordless agreement. What needed to be said would be said tonight.

"I am currently not in need of assistance." Knowing that it was wholly unnecessary to pretend he was alone, he added, "We will be able to discuss this by ourselves."

The shuffling behind the door stopped. After a moment, one of the maids asked, "Are you certain?"

"Your precious viscount will survive the night," Erik responded, already away from the balcony.

Raoul glared, sure that the older man had only spoken to make them more anxious. "Thank you for your concern."

Both waited a few moments before giving each other their undivided attention once more.

"Does impertinence infect this entire household?" Erik asked, amusement obvious.

Raoul was almost envious of him; it sounded as though his anger for the moment had subsided. The masked man could rage one moment and then be completely calm in the next. Despite the momentary pause in their conversation, Raoul still felt his ire distinctly and it was only pure force of will that he was not screaming once more.

"Why do you insist on being difficult?" Erik asked, and Raoul clenched his fists when he could hear just how puzzled he was by his actions. "My patience only extends so far."

"Why!" Raoul quickly lowered his voice to something more reasonable, "Why? Do you not understand what you have done?"

Erik looked completely unmoved, simply annoyed that he had to deal with this situation at all. It was not that surprising that he did not understand, but Raoul still felt his stomach drop. Their differences should not be so insurmountable. It shouldn't be because they _had_ made it work even for just a little while, but at the moment, it seemed like it was. Right and wrong had always been different for Erik, but if every aspect of his concept of relationships differed, how was it even possible to be on equal footing? How could he be the only one to fight for them?

"Imagine our roles had been reversed, Erik," Raoul pleaded, suddenly desperate for Erik to fight for them as well. He was not sure what an apology now would mean for them, but the dissolution of their relationship had _not_ been his desire from the beginning. He simply hadn't known what he could withstand.

It looked like Erik was going to ignore his suggestion, but after a moment of tense silence, Raoul knew he had done so when his eyes narrowed.

He pressed on, "Imagine that it had been I who had kissed Christine while _you_ walked in."

Erik shook his head abruptly, as though trying to dislodge the mental image that had formed.

"And then," Raoul continued, hoping that he was getting through to him, "tell me why I have stayed away, why I have not been able to return to you."

In the silence that followed, he held his breath. It was difficult to tell what exactly Erik was thinking, but that he was thinking at all had to be a good sign.

"So," Erik eventually said. "You want me to leave?" he asked, avoiding the hypothetical posited before him, unable to fully let his mind travel down that possibility.

Raoul bowed his head, his lips pressed tightly together. He cleared his throat of the emotion that had tightened it. "Yes," he whispered.

"I will simply return." Erik moved closer, his cloak tossed over his shoulder, and Raoul was only reminded of his own relative state of undress. He had not imagined this confrontation occurring as such nor with this oddly subdued conclusion. The older man continued, "You love me," stating it as though it was reason enough to erase anything else that might have happened between them.

Odd, he had never thought that such a thing could be used against him, at least, not like this and not from the very man he loved. "I might have cared for you at one point," Raoul conceded, "but now, the very sight of you enrages me."

Erik reached out to touch his arm. In the days that had passed, he found that he distinctly missed the rather careless way they had touched each other.

Raoul violently flinched away, almost as surprised by the action as Erik was. "And the thought of your touch…" he shook his head, "makes me physically ill."

Erik froze at his vehemence. Now that was an expression that was too common, too familiar for him to ignore, for him to reason away as Raoul's stubbornness. He turned away from such open revulsion; Raoul had _never_ looked at him so. Before he acted in a manner they would both regret, he looked at Raoul one last time before leaving.

Raoul slumped against the bed, sinking to the floor. He shuddered at the thought of Erik's touch and yet, somewhere beneath the nausea and the anger, he was disappointed to find that Erik was right. He did love him. Maybe love was too strong a word, but for this particular regard for Erik to have survived this still, it _had _to be.

Shakily climbing into bed, he pulled the blankets tightly around himself and curled into a ball. He did not feel any better for the confrontation. It still hurt to think of them, to think of what Erik and he would probably never be. He muttered to himself, "Stupid, stupid Erik."

Through the balcony doors that were still ajar, Erik heard and for the first time, questioned his initial plan. He watched Raoul until his breathing evened before leaving. He had much to consider.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 04

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: Do you like how in the middle of the conversation, ahem more like argument, Raoul manages to somehow seduce Erik into loving him more? I have a feeling Erik's going to be one of those people who enjoy angry!sex. Poor Raoul; Erik just fell a little more in love with him despite how pissed he is.

Finally though… finally! Erik might even begin to see the error of his ways. Maybe. Hopefully.


	5. Andre

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash, angst   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 2,254

A/N: -sigh- sorry this took forever to update. I was kind of caught up in the whore!AU verse. You can imagine why. XD And, well, editing sucks right now. I hope it doesn't show too much though. I re-read it like twice (although that proves to never be enough when I'm editing).  
><span>Story note<span>: Poor Andre. He's going to have a nervous breakdown one of these days.

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 05 – Andre

o.o.o.o

Four days had passed since Raoul had last been to the opera house. Four days since he had last spoken with Erik, and in all that time, he had yet to hear from him. With any other person, he would not give that duration a second thought, but with Erik… with Erik, four days somehow felt like a lifetime. For the last several months, Raoul had spent every single day in contact with said ghost. Moreover, for the last year or so, he had spent nearly every day in the opera house. Without either, he felt at a loss. Regardless of his own disorientation, silence from the opera ghost might seem like a good thing at the beginning, but it always proved detrimental to one's health. Raoul did not appreciate the attempt to lull him into a false sense of security.

This separation was a blessing and of course, a curse of sorts. He thought that in their last conversation, he had managed to make sense of what had transpired between them in a way that Erik could understand. He rather hoped that the masked man would at least consider what he had said, but he was stubborn and Raoul was beginning to think, he was willful enough to avoid thinking about anything that displeased him, which encompassed quite a bit, himself included apparently. Things would be so much easier if Erik simply understood.

But, he didn't and Raoul was done with hoping for things to change. He was even close to convincing himself that he could move on. Maybe. It was simple fact that it would be for the best, probably for them all, if he _did _cut Erik out of his life. It was a complication that was unnecessary and might altogether not be worth the heartache and arguments.

He spent hours of the day trying to convince himself that lone fact was enough to stop caring. It was difficult though because whenever he thought of Erik, he wanted to see him; like a moth to a flame, he could not stay away. Raoul had never _felt_ so desperately nor lived so fiercely than when he was with Erik. He supposed it was like a drug, this desire, want, need to be with him.

The older man seemed to inspire the worst of him actually. With Erik, it wasn't just love. It was hate, anger, and pity entangled. It was compassion and yearning like he had never known a person could experience and still remain sane. Relatively sane at least. It was a constant pull and push to maintain some semblance of control. Their relationship was as tumultuous now as lovers, and Raoul used that term lightly, as when they had been enemies. In fact, he was certain that he had been in more scuffles and obtained more injuries now than ever before.

There was nothing pure about his feelings towards the opera ghost. It had been so different with Christine. He had only ever wanted to cherish her and make her happy. He could have spent his whole life just working towards that one goal. He had learned from Erik though, that love could be more than simply affection. Actually, he had learned that love should not only be affection. There had to be passion – fireworks and lightning, altogether flashy but ultimately dangerous. It was conflict and compromise. It was growing and changing together.

How could he ever admit, even to himself, that he had more in common with the opera ghost than with his childhood sweetheart; had he and Christine ever continued, they would have fallen into a routine. They would've faltered, stumbling over the past and failing to develop further. He knew that now. Still, it did not mean that his relationship with Erik was any better. Their time together hadn't been all bad; it simply hadn't been much good either.

Even if he could not quite convince himself that cutting off all connections with Erik was wholly necessary, at least he was beginning to seriously consider what life would be like now that the opera ghost and he would return to being, for all intents and purposes, strangers. Perhaps enemies even. It was becoming more and more of a reality and truly, Raoul was not going to waste his time trying to convince Erik otherwise. The vast well of hatred he'd seemed to draw from in the beginning was already running low; he could not hold onto his anger for such extended periods of time. So much of all he felt now was a dull ache of resignation and bitterness.

They were never really meant to last forever. That much was obvious, but Raoul made a bad habit of wanting too much, hoping too hard. He had an odd tendency to dream the impossible.

He could not even erase the hurt that still lingered despite his best efforts; so, he was still avoiding the opera house. When he was away, he could pretend. He could forget as much as he could about trying to understand the fine line of forgiveness and of being taken advantage. It wasn't really Erik's fault. A part of him always argued that. It argued for the ghost, for the past he had and for the people who had turned him into the man he was today, but that excuse could only go so far. Every man made his choices, ghosts included and Raoul could not stay with one who did not recognize the error of his ways.

To think that something like this or even worse could happen again was… it was terrifying. And all too plausible.

A knock on the door to his study brought him out of his thoughts.

"Enter," he called distractedly.

His valet walked in, "The managers of the Opera Populaire are waiting in the sitting room, Vicomte."

Raoul briefly considered his options. He could simply ignore them, but at long last, his curiosity was getting the better of him. No news was proving to be more difficult to accept than hearing bad news. "Tell them I will be with them shortly."

The other man bowed before leaving.

After the door shut, Raoul stood up, looking himself over quickly to see if he was presentable. He had holed up inside his home, unwilling to even chance seeing anyone that would remind him of what had occurred.

Truth be told though, he had been waiting for this meeting. He _had _left rather abruptly that day and he doubted anything had been done to remedy whatever situation the managers had wanted to discuss with him. As much activity as the managers created, little was ever done. The situation could not have been that desperate though if it had taken them this long to visit. He briefly wondered if the opera ghost had been the cause of such delay or – and Raoul wished it were so – Erik had taken what he had said to heart and hadn't been causing any problems whatsoever to warrant a visit.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs when he heard their hushed though heated conversation.

"… -n't do this anymore." Andre was a bit hysterical. His voice was rising above a whisper.

"Shh," Firmin hissed.

Raoul sighed and walked forward to lean against the doorjamb. It was apparently too much to hope that Erik had even tried to think of what he had said. He was too busy terrorizing the managers.

"My house," Andre continued, seemingly not paying his companion any heed, "My _home_."

"Do please stop pacing," Firmin said after a brief pause, as though he'd been unable to come up with a proper response to that.

Raoul supposed there was no proper response. It wasn't very difficult to figure out about what they were talking. The opera ghost had paid Andre a visit. It was always a shocking experience to realize that one's home was not safe from terror at all. He slowly perused his own hallway; this house was not safe at all. Yet, he had only just realized it. He had hardly spent any time here until lately; the opera house had been rather time consuming in the beginning, what with all the accidents and then his pursuit of Christine. Then, it had been Erik's pursuit of him and spending time in the ghost's home at all odd hours of the day.

"He wasn't at _your_ home, Firmin," Andre retorted, stomping harder on the floor to punctuate his statement and his refusal to listen to advice about calming down.

Firmin tried to say soothingly, "That is why we are here," but his irritation and anxiety bled through his words. It was obvious that he had come to the conclusion that the ghost would be paying _him _a visit if this meeting with the viscount did not end well.

"Yes, yes," Andre muttered to himself. Raoul doubted he had stopped pacing though his steps had quieted considerably. He felt for the man. Erik could be unreasonable at even the best of times, and the current climate was not the _best of times_. "I'm doing as he asked. He will refrain from doing anything, won't he?"

Firmin stood up to physically stop him from pacing. "Simply calm yourself for this meeting. He requested you give the note and it remain intact." He exhaled sharply, "We shall do as he commanded."

Raoul was about to enter when he stopped abruptly. If the managers were here delivering a message from the opera ghost, then the ghost would probably be present as well. He scowled at the thought, suddenly feeling little empathy for the managers at being caught in the middle of their argument. The ghost was a coward, skulking about his home when he should be speaking to Raoul directly. He pushed off the doorjamb and walked into the room, startling the pair inside.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Raoul stated evenly, giving them no reason to think that he had overheard their conversation. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Andre cleared his throat before staring down at the note in his hand.

Firmin spoke first though, "We were worried at your continued absence from the opera house. Are you well?"

Raoul quirked a small smile. He could always trust Firmin to use manners to hide ulterior motives. "I am quite well," he answered facetiously, "Thank you for asking. I-"

"I have a note!" Andre blurted out.

The silence that followed only highlighted the volume at which he had yelled his statement. Both Firmin and Raoul just stared at him.

Having used all the fear that had been instilled in him by the ghost's visit, he continued, unheeding of the fact that he sounded slightly unhinged, "He is quite contrite. You must understand that he had no intention of…"

Raoul tuned him out, rather caught on that very first sentence. An apology? The ghost had sent the manager to him with an apology? They were in fact words that Raoul had rather wanted to hear at some point. However, now that they had been said, he found that it only angered him further that the first time he heard it was through Andre's shaking voice. He could not even be certain that Erik had even sent him to say those particular words. The man had been reduced to a blathering fool who would surely say anything he hoped would appease the opera ghost. It meant nothing; in fact, it only made Raoul more certain that Erik hadn't bothered to consider his feelings at all, that the ghost was as remorseless as ever if not more so with this brazen attempt at placation.

Firmin elbowed Andre and he cut off his tirade mid-sentence in favour of holding out the note. "For… the opera house's sake-" Raoul knew that he had wanted to say for _his_ sake. Andre begged, "Do not tear this one up."

Raoul stared at it, making no move to take it from him. "Then for the opera house's sake," his voice must've sounded cold since both men seemed to brace themselves, "I suggest you not give me the note."

Andre looked at Firmin, desperately hoping that he had another idea.

"But-" Firmin started, looking worse than Andre at the moment. He clearly dreaded what his visit from the opera ghost would entail.

"Please…" Andre spoke at the same time.

Raoul silenced him with a single look, one that he must have learned from Erik because both men blanched in response. He was sorely tempted to grab the note and destroy it like the others to prove a point but knew he would fly into a rage once he touched it. As it was, he barely managed to appear calm; only the thought that Erik was somehow monitoring this exchange kept him composed. He refused to give the older man the satisfaction of any reaction whatsoever.

"And if that was all the business you have with me," Raoul stood aside to give them a clear path to the door, "I suggest you leave as well."

Each looked ready to argue. Andre was, in fact, still holding the note up towards him.

"There is _nothing_ you can say to me that will convince me not to destroy that note," Raoul asserted once more. "Leave or have it destroyed." It would be their discretion as to what the lesser evil of the two choices was.

It took a moment and a shared look before both men bowed shallowly and scurried out of the house.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 05

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: More introspection? We need to figure out what Erik's thinking with this note of his. Really though, he should just confront Raoul already. How could he have possibly thought sending another note via Andre was going to do anything but piss Raoul off?

Bravo for Raoul though, being impressive enough to scare the managers even though they're scared of the opera ghost. I do feel badly for them being stuck between two seemingly unmovable forces.


	6. Reyer

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 1,293

A/N: I'm trying to post consistently so as to not lose the momentum for this fic. I refuse to let it go unfinished.  
><span>Story note<span>: I realized I really liked Reyer's name solely on the basis of it being a palindrome. ;3 Such a nerd. It's quite short because… well, because it's really just a transition chapter (but I do so like that Reyer's a BAMF).

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 06 – Reyer

o.o.o.o

Thirteen days.

Raoul found it pathetic that he counted days based on the last time he had seen Erik. It was unhealthy, truly, and counterproductive to his desire to extract himself from the masked man.

Knowing that did not stop him from counting though.

It felt odd to be back in the opera house. Even more odd to be in it when it was so crowded. He just realized that much of his time spent here had been away from the crowds – whether it was because he was sitting in a box seat, was present during rehearsals, or simply in the cellars. He had never thought to experience the opera house otherwise; he had never needed to.

There was a certain amount of security in being surrounded by so many people though. He easily allowed himself to become simply another theatregoer, another body for the throng being shuffled to their seats. He had even chosen a seat in the orchestra section specifically because it was clearly away from any walls and he was surrounded by a good number of people who hardly paid him any attention. It would be impossible for Erik to try anything – although a part of him doubted any place within the opera house was safe from the opera ghost.

He hadn't come to the theatre to see Erik. The older man had had every opportunity to visit him when he had been home. Right now, he was hoping to spend a relaxing evening watching the opera. Once he found his seat, he actually breathed a sigh of relief. He felt more at home here than his own estate. It was a sorry truth. As it were, he had also come to make sure the building was still standing and that there had been no deaths in his absence. Gossip travelled around quite quickly, but he wanted to see firsthand how his opera house was faring.

The managers had sent him a note the day after their visit apologizing for their presence in his home. It had been lacking any mention of the note they had tried to deliver and of the opera ghost. He had not known how to properly react; was he to be wary about the notable absence of the reason they had come to his home or glad for it?

The stage candles were lit and the audience quieted. Raoul saw Monsieur Reyer step up to the stand and tap his baton. Raoul waited for the orchestra accompaniment to the opening of the curtains. So too were the stagehands because the curtains opened partly then faltered. The orchestra was silent. Monsieur Reyer's hands were still poised to begin though they did not move.

People began to murmur to each other; the chatter rose. No one was too concerned though because this was the Opera Populaire, surprises were a common occurrence. Raoul's first instinct was to look immediately towards Box 5, but from his seat, he could hope to see nothing. Others around him had looked to the box as well, but most had turned to the managers' box seat. He could only assume that they had left to remedy the delay. As though on cue, Andre took the stage and Firmin strode towards the orchestra pit to speak with Reyer, gesticulating wildly.

"Please bear with us for the momentary delay." Andre gestured towards the orchestra pit but while he opened and closed his mouth several times, he could not think of any plausible explanation. "We will begin soon," he simply added before looking for the quickest way off the stage.

His hasty retreat went unnoticed by Raoul though because at that moment, Reyer whispered something to Firmin and the manager looked up, searching the crowd. Raoul stood with every intention to leave when he realized that he should have stayed seated because he was spotted almost immediately. It did not help that everyone in his vicinity had turned to look at him. The anonymity he had thought he achieved had simply been his imagination; they all knew he was the patron. The papers had made note of his absence at the theatre several times already, questioning his sudden disinterest – they claimed it to be a romance turned sour with a dancer. He had wanted to laugh seeing the conjecture; they had been correct save for with whom.

His eyes met Firmin's and the manager made an aborted motion towards him as though he was afraid that Raoul would run out of the building. Sighing, Raoul scooted out of the aisle and headed down towards the orchestra pit. Not only would it look suspect if he left, it would be wholly undignified to run away from a problem he was so obviously the cause of.

"Good evening, Messieurs Firmin and Reyer," he said politely.

Reyer turned and in his hands, there was a note.

Raoul couldn't help turning his eyes heavenward, asking exasperatedly, "You, too?"

"He refused to allow me to begin the opera until I gave you this note," Reyer relayed with distaste. Raoul looked at the man again; it was obvious Reyer had been close to disobeying the opera ghost. He seemed only angry, not fearful or overly cautious. All he wanted was to continue with the opera, as was his job.

The viscount was rather pleased that this man was in his employ. For him, he held out his hand for the note. Firmin looked relieved. He _had _looked relieved up until the point when Raoul tore it in half.

The manager's hand was frozen halfway to stopping him and his mouth hung open as he watched the shredded pieces drift to the floor. "Why did you give it to him?" he moaned at Reyer, whose lip quirked up slightly. Firmin pointed at him accusingly, "You knew he would tear it."

Reyer looked rather unimpressed; he kept his expression perfectly neutral. Of course he had known the viscount would not read the note. The viscount was a business man and any intelligent business man would compromise with someone so volatile – quite unlike how the managers dealt with the ghost. However, the ghost must have broken whatever deal they had made previously since the chaos had once again returned to the opera house. If the viscount thought it best to ignore the ghost, then he rather supposed that the stubborn viscount would accomplish what needed to be accomplished.

Tired of Firmin's continued accusations, he pointedly looked towards the audience. Firmin followed suit. He immediately pasted on a smile that looked so much like a grimace when he noticed that most of the audience were watching them. He waved to them before he leaned forward and heatedly whispered to Raoul, "What are you doing?"

"I am," Raoul answered reasonably, "letting the opera start."

The manager scowled and let out a huff before storming away.

Raoul was about to leave, certain he would no longer find enjoyment with tonight's performance, when Reyer said frankly.

"These past few weeks have been horrible without your presence." The man continued bluntly, meeting Raoul's eyes. As much as he supported the patron, he wanted to ensure that he was also well informed. "The _ghost_ has been horrible without you."

Raoul was taken aback momentarily, wondering how much the man knew about Erik and him, but they had been quite discreet about it. Then again, it was quite obvious with all these notes and the timing that _Raoul _was the reason things had once again changed. "The ghost has always been horrible," he stated as fact. "He has just recently been showing his true form."

Reyer simply nodded once and turned to his orchestra, tapping the baton on the stand once more. Raoul left the auditorium just as the first notes sounded.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 06

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: Ha, Reyer did not lose his cool at all during all that. He's probably the most honest of them all too.

Honestly, I don't know why Andre gets chosen to go on stage to calm the audience down, but he is.


	7. Madame Giry

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash   
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word Count<span>: 2,091

A/N: I forgot how much I love this story. I've had this first draft for a long while now and just never found the time to edit it. Hopefully, this will throw you back into the story.  
><span>Story note<span>: Madame Giry takes charge! :)

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 07 – Madame Giry

o.o.o.o

He had barely entered the hallway when his way was blocked. "Madame Giry." He took a deep breath in to calm himself. The dulcet notes of the opera he had left behind that filtered gently through the doors did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves. Even after all his time with Erik, he had somehow forgotten just how influential the opera ghost was. "Not you as well."

She showed her hands, empty save for the cane she carried with her. "We must speak in private."

Somehow that did not make him feel any more at ease. She was too close to Erik and he did not believe that the masked man was above coercing her into playing a messenger as well. But, he had already expected such a request when she had appeared and was now resigned to being accosted by every occupant of the opera house. He would deal with it in stride.

Following her silently, he kept most of his attention on their surroundings, half-expecting the opera ghost to make an appearance himself. He was unsure how he should react if he were to meet Erik face to face again. It was a meeting that should have occurred days ago and yet, it still seemed much too soon. Raoul hated that everything dealing with their relationship was innately conflicting. Little of their interactions made much sense and although he was mostly resolved to return their relationship to the status quo of before the cemetery, the small part that still held some affection for the masked man rebelled against such an idea. He had never wanted this love to start with, and being rid of it seemed the best conclusion. Perhaps if they finally did have another confrontation, the answer would be that much clearer.

Madame Giry had led him to the studio space where the ballet corps rehearsed, far enough from the auditorium that they were cocooned in silence, their footsteps the only accompaniment to their breathing. The sheer amount of mirrors present at the front of the studio actually made Raoul anxious, but Madame Giry was the ballet instructor. There were few places she would have thought to bring him. He considered it to be simply a part of his growing paranoia that this seemed to be some sort of trap. He did note, however, that the space had been brightly lit despite being completely empty; so, she must have expected to bring him here.

"You and the opera ghost…" Madame Giry started.

He almost openly winced at such an opening as innocuous as it should have been. It was weighted because of the pause, as though she were emphasizing the fact that they were, in fact, a pair.

"You and he both are making life difficult here." She chastised, her hand tightening on her cane, "You mustn't take your frustrations out on the rest of us."

"You suffer not for my sake!" he angrily retorted, voice rising loud enough that the following silence was near deafening.

She stared at him in surprise.

He shut his eyes in response, rubbing his face with one hand. In a muted voice, he said, "I apologize for shouting." He was just as much a victim as the rest of them, though none seemed to view him as such.

Madame Giry had never actually witnessed the viscount lose his composure. Even when the notes had started, the man had always been calm and determined, annoyed perhaps but never this. He faced the managers' hysteria with an answering serenity that was admirable. Seeing his so obvious agitation only cemented her decision in saying what she must, although now she decided to redirect her focus. "The ghost has been acting differently as of late."

"So I have heard," Raoul answered slowly, trying to sound innocently interested. It wouldn't do as a patron to simply not care, but he was tired of hearing it. Of course he knew the ghost was acting differently. He was neither blind nor deaf as they must all think him to be, seeing as everyone also knew he was the center of this current tempest.

She glared at him for the pretense of detachment, angry that he would think her fool enough to believe such a lie. "Not simply recently," she explained, voice hardening to the tone she used with the ballet corps when they were behaving especially poorly, "You must remember that I know more of the ghost than any other." She added seriously, "More even than Christine."

He looked away then, unable to meet her eyes, wondering just how much she knew. Surely Erik did not share the entirety of his actions with her; the opera ghost did not seem the type. However, she did have the rather ghost-like, uncanny ability to know of such happenings regardless of whether she had been told or not. Raoul could pinpoint where she may have learned of the news though. Christine must have told her something. His once dear, childhood sweetheart had been utterly distressed. Certainly, she had divulged and sought solace in Meg's arms. Meg would have then told her mother, and here, now they were to have this awkward conversation.

Surely she, who apparently knew Erik better than any of them, would want him to apologize as well. He wondered how she would try to convince him to make amends, simply order him to 'Forgive the ghost.'

"You must leave," she stated suddenly.

Raoul actually took a step back in confusion. "What?"

"Leave Paris," her voice was steady, her eyes serious, "for your sake, to end this madness. Or, stay to make amends with the ghost and deal with the consequences. I fear you may regret your decision eventually either way." She stated his options so plainly, as though those were the only two choices available to him.

Raoul was afraid to think that they _were_. Was the only true way to escape Erik's desires to leave Paris completely? There was no certainty that leaving would do even that; however, the cornerstone of the ghost's life was the opera house. Whatever role Erik believed him to play, the opera house would certainly be more important regardless. Raoul could leave and only be left to wonder what if: what if he had stayed, what if he had accepted an apology that might never come, what if he could never find anyone who made him feel half as much as Erik made him feel. Still, he could escape with his sanity. He could escape the unhealthy way that they expressed their emotions for each other or that they fought as much as they talked. He could leave.

If he stayed, it seemed Madame Giry was convinced that the only option was to somehow move beyond the incident. Could they not even return to being enemies? Raoul had to wonder if they had ever even been that. He had thought them rivals at some point, but it seemed that Erik had never seen him as such. In fact, the rivals, unbeknownst to him at the time, had been Erik and Christine. The thought was as absurd to him now as it had been then.

"You want me to leave?" Raoul asked, just to clarify.

Madame Giry replied, "I said no such thing."

"Then…?"

"You cannot remain as you are now," she explained and Raoul was certain that she did not simply believe her words. She _knew _them to be fact. "You two are of different worlds. You may find some commonalities now but your differences may one day destroy whatever you may have built."

He could not help but ask, "How much do you know?"

She watched him for a moment, silently gauging what truth to tell. "I know the opera ghost has had his sights on you since the moment you stepped within this opera house."

Raoul looked away from her, happening to catch his own reflection in the mirror. Dark bruising beneath his eyes, shoulders slumped slightly, he looked tired. He _was _tired. Had everyone known about the ghost's desires but him? That was a gross exaggeration. He was certain Christine had known nothing and still knew nothing of his attraction either. It had been obvious enough for Madame Giry to see it though, and Raoul had to admit that thinking back on it now that yes, it had been obvious. Now that Raoul finally knew him, knew the man behind the mask, and not the rumours, the older man had been stalking him. He had been obsessive and jealous.

Raoul mused, so, the ghost certainly knew of jealousy. Was the act of kissing Christine not infidelity if there were no emotions involved? Erik hadn't kissed her for the sake of kissing Christine. That was not entirely true though; there _were _emotions involved, namely his own. Erik had staked Raoul's emotions in that kiss.

"I suggest for your sake," Madame Giry brought him out of his musings, "that you leave." She motioned at him, to his fading image of the perfect viscount, to the fading memory of the excited novelty that was love. "You have conceded much already and look where it has brought you. How much more are you willing to change just for one man?"

Raoul didn't have an answer for that. He'd been willing to move mountains for Christine, anything for her love. He hadn't thought that he'd be changing himself or as Raoul was beginning to think of it more and more lately, losing himself.

He bowed shallowly to her, quietly saying, "Thank you for your consideration, Madame," before taking his leave. He had much to think about.

o.o.o

The second the studio door shut behind Raoul, a chill wind blasted through the room, thrusting it into darkness. Madame Giry stood where she was, eyes closing useless as they were in an attempt to hear where Erik might approach. There were no footsteps though. The wind had settled but the mirrors still trembled by some unknown force.

"Meddling woman!"

She flinched not from the volume but rather from the barely contained violence promised within it. It was a bad sign that he had chosen to remain behind the mirrors and stay hidden in his passageways. She spoke not to the man, but rather to the ghost he had become.

The mirrors rattled. "What have you done?"

She had expected to be followed; that had never been a question in her mind. The ghost, once intent on someone, would not leave them be for any reason. It had only ever been a question of how much the ghost wanted the viscount. There being no safe place within the opera house, she had chosen the place she felt most comfortable. Now, she wondered if it would have been better to have chosen a place nearer to the others. Erik would not hesitate to dispose of anyone that stood between him and his desires. She knew not whether to be more worried for herself or for the viscount now that she had proof that the ghost was this fanatical. "I am thinking only what's best for you."

"The viscount is what is best for me," he angrily retorted so quickly and vehemently that her sympathy for the viscount increased.

Madame Giry tried to reason with him. "Surely, you must see that he will not understand. He has so much."

"So much?" Erik spat, "You mean, so much more opportunity? More life than with me?" It was then that she could hear his footsteps, an angry tiger pacing within the confines of his cage. "Have I so little to offer? He stayed with me. He _agreed_ to let me see him, to touch him."

"And then he left," she concluded, hiding her interest in just what was transpiring between the two. "He left."

"And he _will_ _come back_," Each word was stressed, the ghost's voice deepening. A mirror shattered; the cage was crumbling. "He would have if you hadn't meddled in my affairs."

"He will hurt you." Madame Giry feared for her life more in this moment than any other time dealing with the opera ghost. She raised her hand to the level of her eyes. When silence was his answer, she turned about worriedly, blindly searching for him, waiting to hear the noose cut through the air with deadly accuracy.

His voice was silent, creeping up on her as a parting blow. "Then, perhaps we shall be even."

Then she was alone, the pounding of her heart making her lightheaded. She stood there, wondering just who was changing whom.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 07

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: Poor Madame Giry. She _does _really know Erik all too well. As much as she wants his happiness, she knows that he'll probably destroy those dearest to him. And it's kind of nice that she's also trying to look out for Raoul.

But what has her actions driven Erik into doing? DX


	8. Meg Giry

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera  
><span>Disclaimer<span>: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.  
><span>Summary<span>: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash  
><span>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Word<span>Count: 1,811

A/N: Were you guys worried I wouldn't be posting this week? XD I might be cutting it kind of close, but I still made this weekend (at least in my time zone).  
><span>Story<span>note: I'm going to have to apologize for a continued cliffhanger because… well, you'll see.

o.o.o.o

All Apologies  
>By: Lucifer Rosemaunt<p>

Chapter 08 – Meg Giry

o.o.o.o

The sun was just beginning to rise. Its gentle glow suffused the sky, a gradual lightening that had not quite reached the west, which was still adorned in the sleeping dark blue of night and a few precocious stars.

Raoul sat just outside his room on the balcony where railing met wall. His back soaked in the cold of the stone behind him while his right leg dangled off the edge, swaying slightly. From here, he could see the tops of Paris, see the horizon that had never looked as far as it did now. However, he found that if he stared long enough his vision would blur and the distance between here and some point on the horizon simply vanished. The trees and grass, the houses and shops, the rivers and boats floating upon them, they all vanished. And for a moment, Raoul could be both at home and at the Seine. He could have the security of his home beneath him, hear the sounds of the servants waking and the birds chirping, and still remember the spray of water upon his face, gruff voices from men with calloused hands, and the breath of cooler air.

He wondered, even if he left Paris would it still feel as though he had never left at all. Would he be trapped by the memories, trapped to forever live a life that was still partly in the Opera Populaire? He wondered more however, if he were simply losing his mind. There was a desperate edge to all his thoughts, fear or mania creeping upon him. He hadn't slept at all through the night; his mind was awhirl with indecision, or perhaps consideration, after his conversation with Madame Giry. She had made simple in one sentence what had been plaguing Raoul for more than three weeks. He believed her to be right, too. It was unfair to both Erik and him to remain as they were, caught in love but ill-equipped with the trust necessary to make it work. Trust was something Raoul could not give Erik – not now, not anymore.

Maybe _that_ had been the vital part of them that Erik had wounded when he had kissed Christine. In some of his more dramatic moments, Raoul had always thought Erik had simply broken his heart. He couldn't trust Erik not to manipulate him, not to twist his decisions, his very life so that it suited him. He couldn't trust Erik to _understand_ why that was wrong.

So, his decision had been made for him – though it had taken him all night to truly acknowledge it. He had picked through his clothes, moved the furniture around, and paced enough so that his feet hurt. His body had been unwilling to rest when his mind could find no similar reprieve. And once the decision had been clear, he'd needed air, which was why he found himself staring at trees and rooftops from his current perch.

He was excited to visit his sisters and brother. He could treat the exile that he was certain leaving would be as an extended vacation that he could fool himself into believing. People moved and fell out of love every day. It had happened to him once already with Christine, and how far that fall had been. Although he was certain it might hurt for a while, it couldn't hurt forever. He would survive. Erik would survive too because that was what the opera ghost, the devil's child, that was what _Erik_ did best. He survived through everything. Raoul did not even fool himself into thinking for one moment that the masked man would waste away in his absence; just as he wouldn't. They were both too stubborn for that.

"Monsieur le Vicomte!" A female voice shouted.

From beneath the branches of the nearby tree, Raoul could see a figure with a cloak draped over her shoulders. She waved her hands wildly at him, and for a moment he feared it was Christine. When she called again though, Raoul realized that there was no way that could be her. If he wasn't mistaken, it was Madame Giry's daughter.

He held out a hand, gesturing towards the front door before calling back. "I'll be down in a moment." Going through his room, he looked at the mess he had made. Clothes were strewn on every piece of furniture. The trunk he had packed and unpacked at various times during the night was currently only half-filled. It would only take a moment to finish. Then, all he had to do was say the word and he would depart from Paris. He was not quite sure for how long, did not want to think that it might be forever.

He shut the bedroom door behind him and hastened down the stairs, wondering why the ballet dancer would be visiting him at his home so early. Meg bent this way and that, trying to take in the entire house from just inside the doorway. The butler left silently when he saw him approach. Raoul hardly noticed any of that; all he saw was the note in her hand.

"Mademoiselle Giry," he straightened his coat, just now conscious of how wrinkled it was. He hadn't changed from last night's excursion to the opera house. Between the packing and moving of furniture, it hadn't crossed his mind.

"Monsieur." She curtseyed, hesitantly smiling at him.

They had never truly spoken to each other, but she was almost always with Christine. When Raoul had loved her still that had meant that he had seen a lot of the young girl, effervescent and curious. She was bold and watched others intently in a manner so much like Madame Giry that Raoul was always taken aback when he saw it.

"Would you like to come in?" Raoul turned slightly to give her passage but she shook her head vigorously. Her eyes had widened and she looked almost longingly inside the house.

"I was sent to give you this letter. It is quite important," she added the last part in a whisper.

Raoul hardly listened to her. Erik thought everything he did was of utmost importance. He was about to take the note when she pulled it away. He frowned in surprise.

"It's from Mama," she explained. "Do not tear this one up."

This time he looked at the note more closely as he reached to grab it. There was no skull seal and Meg herself didn't seem as terrorized as the other messengers had been. He wondered what else Madame Giry could possibly say to him. She had seemed to speak her piece yesterday. He dreaded to see what other observations the instructor would impart upon him now.

"Still," Meg lingered, worrying the edge of the cloak with her hands. "I think you should forgive him." She continued before he could reply, "It was a relief when you made that deal with him."

He was tempted to ask what deal or bargain they all thought he had made with the ghost.

"I understand that he must have done something wrong," she nodded, and he was certain she did not expect any less than the ghost to break deals, "but it had been nice. Things had gone so wrong for so long that I forgot what it was like to spend a day without running away in fear at the smallest of noises."

Raoul tensed, hand tightening on the note in his hand. He felt for them – he truly did – but all he could really think was that given the opportunity, they would willingly sacrifice someone to the ghost if it meant continued peace. He wasn't going to be that sacrifice. "Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said tersely.

Seemingly unaffected by his tone, she only curtseyed once more before turning to leave. She stopped suddenly though, and when she turned Raoul could not help but be wary. She looked on the verge of an epiphany, "You just looked so… happy, too. Relaxed," she motioned vaguely and he knew that she saw him now and could not help but make the comparison. "And certainly the ghost must have been as well since it had been so quiet." She laughed as she revealed, "For a while, we thought that the ghost had finally moved on."

He wondered why Madame Giry kept such secrets from her daughter. The ghost was such a large part of her life already, to reveal that the ghost was nothing more than a man would have probably saved her a lot of anguish and fear. He glanced down at the note, thinking of his own predicament. It hadn't saved _him_ from any anguish knowing the ghost was a man. Perhaps it didn't matter, or perhaps they simply weren't her secrets to share.

Meg smiled. "Good morning." The distant look was gone from her visage as scampered away.

He didn't wait a second longer to read the note that Madame Giry thought was important enough to send her daughter so early in the morning to him.

_M. Le Vicomte,_

_Perhaps __I __had __been __hasty __in __my __suggestion __to __you __the __previous __day. __Change, __it __seems, __need __not __be __only __your __burden __to __carry__ – __as __immutable __as __ghosts __may __be, __Erik __is __still __but __a __man._

_Mme. __Giry_

He reread the cryptic message several times, wondering if the conclusion he inevitably kept drawing was the truth. Had his words actually reached Erik? Had he somehow managed to change the man so that their worlds were not as different as Madame Giry had said? He raced up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time and undressing as he went. He needed to change, to look presentable. He needed to… he wasn't quite sure what he needed. All he knew was that he was tired of worrying, of running and still not being happy. It hurt whether he spoke to Erik or not and now Madame Giry had give him this gift, this insight that he had missed in his own stubbornness. He just wanted to stop hurting.

Raoul nearly tripped over the trunk in his haste to find clothes. Kicking it to one side, he told himself hopefully that he could unpack later. He first had to think about what he was going to say. He couldn't approach this as he had before, that much was apparent. It would be so easy to lose his temper again. Erik hadn't apologized and Raoul had yet to forgive him for his actions, but leaving now felt like giving up. Before, it had been the only option. With this new awareness, despite all the reasons that had accumulated against this relationship with the opera ghost, he finally had something more than his traitorous affections to fight harder for what they could have because maybe Erik was trying to fight for them as well.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 08

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter<span>Review: Yeah, this is all from Raoul's POV, so we don't even really know what Erik's been doing at this time. We can all guess, but so far, nothing.

It's sad to think that Raoul's trust issues are completely founded because even when they are together, Erik does those things Raoul'd feared of him because he's a manipulative bastard. :( Poor Raoul. He wants so badly to believe that not even his resolve at leaving lasted very long. He caved in so easily. He doesn't really realize Erik _is_fighting for them, just not in the way Raoul had wanted.


	9. In Decision

Title: All Apologies  
><span>#<span>: 9. In Decision  
><span>Author<span>: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Summary: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
>Fandom<span>: Phantom of the Opera  
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: slash   
>Word Count<span>: 1,649  
><span>Rating<span>: K+

A/N: I don't like this chapter. At all. But I still felt like I needed to add it.  
><span>Story note<span>: Finally, right? So much for quick multi-chaptered fic from me. I don't think I know what the word _quick _means.

o.o.o.o

Erik did not care to remember exactly how he came to be up a tree just to the left of Raoul's balcony. There was a meddling old woman he had left in his haste. The opera had barely reached its first aria, and the audience had been fat, full, and thoroughly pleased with the newest bit of opera ghost gossip. There was a stolen carriage, an injured driver, angry voices, and quickened footsteps that had been left in the wake of his transit. None of that was significant. All that mattered was the meter distance between his perch and the balcony ledge, the open doors that tested his restraint, and the young man currently tearing his room apart in indecision.

As much as his first impulse was to confront his wayward Chagny, he found the need to know the outcome of Raoul's internal struggle to be much stronger. Madame Giry's fate depended upon this decision, not that Raoul would ever know that, but if the woman had managed to convince him to leave, there was little in the world that would stop Erik from making her regret her decision to ever look upon Raoul, much less speak with him. If she lived long enough to be able to regret it.

More importantly, Erik wanted to know what this tenacious, stubborn, and passionate young man would do. He wondered if it were possible that his loyalty could be so easily rent by some old woman's words. Raoul loved him and Erik was still left in anticipation to see how he would prove it to him willingly, how far he would go to keep his love.

It was a fact that he had little patience, but Raoul always managed to keep him waiting and without anything else to occupy his time, thinking. Despite his reluctance and general disgust at the very thought of their situations being reversed, he had been forced to mull over what Raoul had argued. He could usually get no further than the image of Raoul kissing Christine. He had seen it before. Raoul seemed to forget that he had the misfortune to live through that, through Raoul fawning over his protégé. He had been witness to the young man wasting his affections, his efforts, his time on her when Erik had been there all along.

So, he did not need to imagine their roles reversed. He knew how he would feel, how he would respond because he'd already had the opportunity to react. He had made his intentions known, had made Raoul _his_, and had begrudged the person who was truly to blame, Christine. Although he attempted to avoid all thoughts of her beyond hope for her voice nowadays, the sense of irritation and irrational bursts of hatred towards her could not be helped. Somehow she was able to cause him strife even in her current absence. She dared time and again to take what was not hers. She had failed once and Erik would make certain she failed every single time. He did not know why Raoul would ever expect otherwise.

Toward the young man, well, Erik felt the same towards him regardless of the scenario, regardless of the kisses he had given all too freely to her and the touches that should have been reserved for him. Once, he may have questioned his motives, wondered if they were not all some ruse, but Raoul had proven himself true.

It begged the question of whether the same could be said of Erik, and that always made him pause. He could not understand exactly how Raoul could ever think him to be false. He was perfectly clear when it came to how he felt about the younger man: first in the cemetery and then in inviting him into his home and showing him his face.

Raoul was always a little slow though: slow to understand, slow to realize his feelings, slow to make them known. It was because of this that Erik found some satisfaction in seeing his obvious turmoil. Only the viscount's stubbornness was keeping him from making the correct choice, and this willfulness was just as attractive now as it would be when he finally gave in. Oh, he would be able to choose, but Erik would be there regardless. The outcome was going to be the same even if Raoul had yet to realize that Erik was not going to lose him.

He admitted only to himself that he wanted the young man to choose him, to choose him in all things without any provocation or incitement.

The entire evening, as with the past weeks, was spent with Raoul denying him however. He would place his clothes within the trunk and then in the very next moment remove it. The trunk was never completely full and the room simply became more disarrayed. He spared several minutes in equal measures simply staring at his bedroom wall or screaming and kicking his furniture.

Erik could not tear his eyes away from the spectacle. He had been unable to watch Raoul this unencumbered in months. Ever since he had confessed in the cemetery, Raoul had been constantly vying for his attention and when he hadn't been, he had simply been too acutely aware of being watched and became self-conscious of his actions. This moment was more honest, more intimate than Erik would ever admit to him. Raoul had told him time and again that it disturbed him to be watched so intently.

There was a marked difference between then and now though. Raoul was hurting because of him. Erik understood that, but he had always known that because of the monster he was, it was inevitable. Yet, somehow his suffering now was different than before. He had seen Raoul suffer, injured at his own hands or by his own risks, and he had not taken a moment to consider anything other than the fact that the young man was resilient enough to continue to live. His continued existence had been all that mattered, but that was not so any longer. Erik had somehow begun to care about the quality of his life and of his days.

In some moment between the cemetery and this balcony, they had become connected. Raoul's suffering was his own as well. Erik did not fully understand it, could not fully grasp it, and it was only now left as a mere spectator to their relationship that he could even begin to attempt to examine the fleeting thoughts. It was a distant, foreign emotion that came and left quickly but with the regularity of waves upon a shore, and each time, it left the faint impression of a phantom injury somewhere within his chest.

Their lives were connected, and he should be rejoicing at the discovery, not beginning to doubt his actions. He could not rejoice, not like this, even as he tried to revel in the satisfaction of Raoul suffering because of his stubbornness. The doubt steadily eroded the pleasure, and a feeling that might have been guilt – Erik could not be too certain – was taking root. It made staying within the tree difficult because he knew _he _could make this better; there was something within his power that he was not doing.

Before he could determine exactly what that action was, he was forced from his perch. As dawn broke, Raoul moved to the balcony. Erik spared one glance into his room to see it the worse for wear and the trunk neither full nor empty before jumping down. Raoul stared out into the distance, a small frown marring his features, and Erik was forced to press against the wall to remain hidden in the bushes below, lest the young man glance down and see him. From his position, he could no longer see Raoul's face, and the phantom pain that had been a nuisance but moments before was easily ignored in favour of allowing his impatience to grow. He could finally focus again on the important factors. The need for action was still present and waiting for Raoul was simply taking too long.

A plan was already forming in his mind. Raoul would remain. The only problem was that to make his plan work, he would need him to return to the opera house. Taking Raoul here, in his estate, would be too risky, and there were too many factors to consider in moving such a distance back to the Opera Populaire with an unconscious young man.

Erik glanced up to see Raoul's leg dangling over the edge and his hand, white-knuckled and clutching the material of his trousers, wrinkling them even further. He hesitated, frozen to his spot, and he began to question his burgeoning plan. Surely, Raoul would only suffer if Erik took him against his will, and perhaps the viscount _would _choose him regardless. Even if he did not, then maybe that was to be for the best, but he simply could not let him go. Only the sound of approaching footsteps freed him from those traitorous thoughts. Raoul would suffer only as much as he needed to in order for them to remain together. It was necessary.

He crept quietly to the main entrance of the estate to better hear their conversation. Madame Giry's brat called out to Raoul, and Erik glared at her and the freedoms she took when addressing his viscount. The content of their conversation alone ensured her continued safety after what Madame Giry had done. What he bothered to listen of her words were vague and confusing, but Raoul seemed to ascribe a meaning to them that Erik did not care to decipher. All he cared about was that the Giry brat had somehow convinced Raoul to return to the Opera Populaire. It was perfect.

He departed before either of them, pleased that he would soon have Raoul with him once more.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 09

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
><span>Chapter Review<span>: Just because we need to know what Erik was doing/thinking, and so we can marvel at how amazing it is how confident Erik can be about everything he does. Even when he really shouldn't be. Although he _is _starting to doubt his normal reactions when it comes to dealing with Raoul. I think this is the second to last chapter. Or it's very near the end obviously. I mean, it's coming to a head, unless Erik does something really stupid… which admittedly he might.


	10. Firmin

Title: All Apologies  
><span>#<span>: 10. Firmin  
><span>Author<span>: Lucifer Rosemaunt

Summary: Offshoot from Gallery Piece chapter 03. Good graces are often given to those with persistence.  
>Fandom<span>: Phantom of the Opera  
>Pairing(s)<span>: Erik/Raoul  
><span>Warning(s)<span>: minor violence  
>Word Count: 4,415<br>Rating: K+

A/N: Wow, how about we finish this story some time this century, right? Fml.  
>Story note: Ending this story. Putting the 'fin' in finally. (Lame pun) I just realized that there is no grand moment in this fic where they fall into each other's arms and declare undying love once more, which is a little disappointing considering the wait.<p>

o.o.o.o

Raoul was barely off his estate before he began to question his own optimism with regards to returning to the opera house and speaking with Erik. He was not fool enough to believe an actual reconciliation awaited him, but perhaps something less disastrous than their previous encounters would occur. Every time they met, it was the same game but different players save for Erik and himself. What would change now, he wondered. What had changed?

The answer was simple: Erik.

Raoul had somehow managed to affect the opera ghost, enough so that Madame Giry had noticed it, and he was fairly certain she was a difficult woman to fool. He briefly wondered if he would have been able to see any effect himself if he had not kept pushing Erik away, kept running away from a confrontation, but that was now a moot point.

In his mind, leaving had still left the option of coming back. It had not been a definite resolution but he was afraid of what that resolution would be, afraid of what his pride and his heart would make him do in response. Yet, all it took was an intimation of change to drive him to reconsider leaving, to force the confrontation that he both dreaded and desired, and that was all too telling. He so desperately wanted them to work that he was ignoring all his instincts, but in the end, he needed to know and Madame Giry's note was enough to convince to do so now rather than later.

There was little doubt, however, that he was still ill-equipped to put into words his feelings on the matter. As much as, or as _little_ as Erik had changed, Raoul had a feeling that if he did not somehow control his own reactions, they would inevitably fall into the same pattern. They would be reduced to yelling and being convinced of their own faultlessness: Erik for determining the depth of Raoul's feeling and Raoul for the anger at his flippant use of adultery.

Whenever he saw the older man look as though he was unaffected by their separation though, Raoul could not help but prefer the anger over the hurt. Given the reactions of every opera house employee that had spoken to him so far, it was obvious that Erik was affected. Still, he was not quite sure if that was indicative of the opera ghost changing or simply returning to his old ways.

Erik was unapologetic, confident to the point of arrogance, and self-righteous. He may not have gloated in his discovery that he loved him, but using that as the excuse for his actions almost made Raoul want to outright deny any affection he might have had. It was a petty reaction, but one that Erik often inspired in him. Perhaps in his pettiness, there was some other emotion there that he had been blind to.

Still, he needed at least a semblance of a plan. This was the opera ghost. Manipulation would be expected, but Raoul was still at a loss. He only thought that as smug as Erik had looked, as happy as he had been with the outcome, he could not have been expecting Raoul to act as he had. They were both a little lost. It was so very much harder than it should have been. Any other person, anyone other than Erik and Raoul would not have hesitated to leave.

Erik would always be different though, even in this. He supposed he should have first realized it that moment in the cemetery when it ultimately became clear that a sword to his neck was Erik's way of courting him, but in between moments of such tenuous resolve and hope and self-pity for his own weaknesses, he must have lost sight of that. He had gone through the gamut of emotions regarding Erik from hate to apathy, from love to outright distrust, always being swayed by mere possibilities. He was even swayed now, but they had come to this crossroads and he could not turn back from it.

Even with his mind racing through the various outcomes of this visit, he was still unsurprised when he took two steps into the opera house and was immediately intercepted by one of the managers. Firmin stood before him, still as a statue and just as mute. It was clear, however, that he was there to prevent him from entering further.

After a few moments, it also became clear that he was not going to find the strength to speak without prompting.

"Yes, Firmin?"

The manager blinked rapidly but did not respond. He was sweating profusely.

Raoul glanced around trying to locate Andre, thinking that perhaps having his counterpart would calm him enough to urge him to speak. The other manager was nowhere to be seen though, and Raoul was ready to simply walk around him. He had neither the patience nor the time for this.

Luckily, Firmin found his voice. "A message from the opera ghost."

"I presumed as much," he retorted. Raoul wanted to feel badly for him, but there were more pressing issues to be concerned with. "What is it? A note?"

"A note," Firmin said at the same time. He held it out but pulled it away before he could take it.

Raoul was quickly becoming annoyed at the presumptuousness of these people to keep doing so to him and would have been angrier if he did not concede that there was a good reason why they kept pulling the notes away. It was annoying nonetheless. It was not as though he could reveal that this particular note had presented the perfect opportunity to find Erik. Therefore, he would not be destroying it.

Firmin did manage to surprise him by saying, "You must read it in Box 5."

Raoul nodded impatiently and held his hand out. "I shall."

"Please go. He swore…" Firmin stopped suddenly, surprised by his acquiescence. "You will go?"

Hand still held out, Raoul nodded. "Yes."

"To Box 5?"

He nodded again.

"And I will escort you?" The words were more question than statement and Firmin gripped the note tighter to himself.

Raoul sighed, seeing that the other man was not going to trust him with the note. He finally dropped his hand. "If you must."

Firmin turned heel and began walking briskly through the hallways, and Raoul was glad he was as eager to finish his duties as messenger as Raoul was to be rid of him.

"I am," Firmin searched his mind for the proper words, "to prevent the others from bothering you."

"How very thoughtful," Raoul blithely commented mostly to himself.

"And you will read the note?" Firmin was still waiting for a sign of refusal, looking over his shoulder often enough to make certain he was still there that Raoul was beginning to wonder if he was going to run into a wall. He also wondered just how the opera ghost had threatened the manager to have him in such a state.

Realizing that he was actually waiting for a response, Raoul shrugged noncommittally. He would perhaps read the note this time. Maybe the apology he had long since expected was contained within these messages.

Only when they stood outside of Box 5 did Firmin finally hold the note out once more. "Please do not destroy this one."

Raoul took it from his shaking hands and entered the box. To his surprise Erik was not there waiting. The theatre was empty. Only a ghost light at the center of the stage was present while several lamps illuminated the box just enough to be able to read.

Staring at the note, he could not believe he was going to give into his curiosity. He had not forgiven Erik with just Madame Giry's observation, but by this point, it felt less of a concession than it would have been in the beginning. After so much doubt, he had somehow found hope again. There was a beacon in the darkness and this small scrap of paper was going to help him decide.

He held his breath, disappointed that his own hands were a bit unsteady as he broke the seal. Slowly, he flipped the note open, unfolding the cream paper. He exhaled sharply and turned the note over in his hands, over and over again.

A surprised bark of laughter came out, and hopes that had been hinged upon the words that lay within the note crumpled as his hand clenched tightly and crushed the paper into an unrecognizable ball. He stared at it, not in confusion, but in all-too-familiar anger.

It had been blank.

Letting it fall to the ground, he turned and was about to storm out of the box when he nearly ran into someone.

Erik huffed a laugh. "You _would _choose to read that note."

The fondness in his tone actually made Raoul pause before he remembered himself. "Erik," he growled. "What is this?"

The masked man reached out and surprisingly, Raoul flinched, taking several steps away from him. The very thought of Erik's touch still made him cringe; he had not been expecting that strong of a revulsion considering his previous anticipation of this meeting.

Erik stared at his hand for a moment then at Raoul, not quite meeting his eyes. "You weren't actually supposed to read that."

"Really?" Raoul retorted and he hated how calm the other man always was when they were arguing. "Then perhaps we should review the purpose of a note sent specifically to a person."

Despite his tone, Erik was more interested than defensive when he asked, "Why did you not tear it up like the others?"

Raoul refused to be derailed from the more salient point of what was happening. "So, all along these notes were nothing?"

Erik shook his head and met his eyes then. "No," he stated simply. There were no forthcoming excuses, no attempts to explain himself, and Raoul wondered if he was ever going to be able to trust him again, even for something as simple as notes.

"Just empty letters?" Raoul pressed, "An attempt to fool me into thinking you wished to speak with me."

"You know," Erik said chidingly, "that I have wanted to speak with you from the very beginning. I was not the one who refused to speak."

Raoul clenched his fists at the patronizing tone. "So they were all blank."

"No," Erik repeated and annoyance was finally creeping into his tone. "Just this one."

"Just this one," Raoul parroted, scoffing. "_Just this one_, of course. Has this all been sport for you?"

"Hardly." Erik scowled then.

Distantly, Raoul hoped he had managed to offend him with that suggestion. It was cruel, he knew, especially when Erik undoubtedly, in his own way, loved him, but a piece of him was pleased that questioning the masked man's affection would garner a reaction. It was only fair. "Then what was the meaning of that?" He gestured toward the ground.

"The message was to bring you here," he said as though it were obvious.

"And the others?"

Erik snapped, "Well, if you hadn't destroyed them all, you would know. Would you not?"

They stared at each other then. Raoul was breathing hard and his fingers ached from his clenched fists. He shook his head and thought to himself, _she was wrong. _There had been no change; he had been wrong to return.

Raoul elbowed past him, touching him as little as necessary and exited into the hallway. Erik was quick to follow him and Raoul still could not understand from where such disregard for his own safety came. That was the only reason he stopped where he was and put a hand on Erik's chest to stop him as well.

Erik immediately placed a hand over his to keep it there and Raoul stared at that small touch before shaking his head and pulling away.

He cradled his hand to his chest before looking up and down the hallway. It was empty. Perhaps Firmin was doing his job by keeping the others away.

It was difficult to return his focus on Erik to admit, "I cannot. I was wrong. I've been wrong this entire time."

"Raoul," Erik reached forward.

"No!" Raoul shouted, surprising both of them. "Do not touch me."

Erik grit his teeth, his lips pressed together as he stepped back, bringing his arms to his sides with some effort.

They stood in silence. Raoul tucked his hands under crossed arms; his eyes focused on the ground. Erik just frowned, staring at him, unhappy that he actually felt further from the young man at this moment than he had been these past weeks.

There was a way to fix this. Erik simply could not figure out how. Nothing he had done so far worked and he knew that at any moment, Raoul would walk away from him and Erik would not be able to touch him unless he wanted that pained look to be thrown his direction, unless he wanted Raoul to collapse within himself, somehow losing that vitality that made him the man Erik loved. He felt a surge of protectiveness whenever he saw that look. The only problem was that he was the cause of it. That alone was enough to prompt him to adjust his plans and even consider revealing his true motives despite his better judgment.

Then, Raoul turned a shoulder. It could have easily been him shifting on his feet as it could have been him turning to leave and disappear from his life forever.

Erik blurted out, "I was going to kidnap you."

There was a pause where Raoul frowned and tried to make sense of his words. He looked up but before speaking realized they were in the open still, in the middle of a hallway where anyone could happen upon them despite Firmin's directive to give them privacy. He took a deep breath to steel himself and consider his options before willingly walking back into Box 5 where they would be in close quarters.

The masked man had barely entered the box before Raoul asked, "What?"

"The note," Erik explained. "It was a ruse so Firmin would lead you to a place of isolation, and even if you had torn the note, you would be alone. At which point, I would have kidnapped you."

Raoul was certain he was telling the truth, if only because Erik sounded convinced that his plan could be considered completely reasonable, and he was glad that the older man maintained the distance between them.

"Why?" He watched Erik's expressions change from thought to anger.

"Do not listen to Madame Giry," he said vehemently; her name came out sounding as though it were a curse. "Do not leave."

Raoul realized then that to Erik, the plan _was_ reasonable. "You were going to force me to stay."

"I was going to talk some sense into you." He crossed his own arms then.

Raoul stayed silent, staring at him.

Erik waited for the fall out, for the anger that was sure to follow. He was surprised when Raoul asked, "Then what?"

"Excuse me?"

"Had you succeeded," Raoul asked, "what would you have done with me?"

Erik gave the tiniest of shrugs. "Kept you with me forever."

"Even if I didn't want to," Raoul pressed.

"You love me. Why wouldn't you want to?" He knew that was not what Raoul wanted to hear because the young man took a step backwards closer to the edge of the balcony.

Instead of refuting the claim, Raoul said, "Not all people in love should remain so and even fewer should stay together."

That response was worse than an outright denial. He balked, "Not you and I. You need to stop running away, running away from us, from me."

"I needed time to think." Raoul hated how their thoughts had somehow managed to run along the same lines. "I still do."

He looked unconvinced. "Can you not think here?"

"No," Raoul shouted. "No! If I could think here, we would already know what was going on between us. You…" He shook his head. "_Why _do you love me?"

The question was not requesting an explanation, a delineation of things Erik loved about Raoul or how it had happened. It was a question asking why it had to be him, as though it were a misfortune, and Erik looked away, his frown deepening.

Raoul continued despite seeing it, unwilling to be moved, "I ask myself. Why am I here? I ask myself this _constantly_. Why do I let myself linger on you when you've hurt me time and again?" He hastily lifted up his sleeves and remnants from that time when Erik welcomed him into his home only to punish him for visiting were faded memories upon his skin. "What is wrong with me that I would willingly put myself in a situation where I am so obviously unhappy?"

Erik wanted to ask him, _and_ _were you really unhappy,_ but all that came out was "And?"

"And what?" Raoul asked, knowing he was being unfair because he had not always been this conflicted.

He swallowed before speaking, barely managing to tamp down his own ire and frustrations. "You must've come to conclusion. Is that not why you raced here?"

Raoul hunched over, arms still crossed and he looked smaller then. Perhaps that was where the problem lay, he thought, not entirely with Erik but with himself for not being able to come to a conclusion. "I know you do not want Christine."

"No," Erik confirmed. "She does not make me happy."

"She doesn't make you happy?"

And Erik hated that doubt was clear in his voice.

"But can I even claim such a feat?" Raoul continued. He found that he could not return to the person he had once been, neither before the Incident nor before Erik. He so desperately tried because he did not know himself any longer, did not like who he had become. It was clear now though that his was not the only life that had been miserable these past weeks.

Even Erik did not try to deny it. "I still want you. I still need you." He took a step closer despite the fact that Raoul tensed. "I hate when we are apart, have hated every second I could not be with you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I have never stopped loving you."

Raoul could not help but wonder how this man with all his flaws and social inadequacies could say that word so easily, when he himself could not. He might have once. It had been easy to say I love you to Christine. He had meant it then but refused to say it again without the same vehemence behind the words, but this thing between him and Erik, was that really love?

"I will never stop loving you," Erik reiterated.

Fooled by Raoul's stillness, he reached out to touch his arm, but Raoul lashed out, slapping his hand away. The smack seemed to echo in the empty theatre.

"Don't you see…?" He shook his head. "We don't. I don't. God, I'll only get hurt," Raoul finally admitted.

Erik grabbed him by his jacket and jerked him forward, a manic grin in place when he said, "Then hurt me first."

He shook him violently and all Raoul could think was to get away. He could not bear the feel of Erik's hands on him, not when they had touched her. His skin crawled, his stomach churned, and his chest ached. He flailed and all he felt was dirty.

His hands scrabbled to make Erik release him, but the masked man gripped his jacket tighter and shook him harder. They knocked over several chairs as they barely managed to stay on their feet. Erik looked wild then; there was no composure, none of that calm confidence in the outcome he was certain would come to pass. Raoul had a quick moment and humourlessly thought, it must be love to have somehow managed to reduce the unflappable opera ghost to this. He took it all in before they stumbled backwards towards the entrance of the box.

Swinging his fist blindly, he managed to connect solidly with Erik's jaw, hard enough that he was finally released. They both stumbled and fell onto the floor from the separation, panting from the exertion. They were close but not touching. Their clothes were in disarray and they ached from something other than their rent emotions.

Raoul pushed the hair from his face as he slumped against the balcony wall. Erik fixed his mask and wig deliberately before turning to face him, choosing to remain on the floor an arm's distance beside him.

"This." Raoul pointed between them. "This does not make us even. This is not what I want us to be. We cannot simply hurt each other."

"You do not want to hurt," Erik pointed out slowly. "Neither yourself nor me."

Raoul glared at him. "Why would I want to hurt you…?" He hesitated before adding, "Now?" There had been a time, he remembered, when he had wanted to hurt the opera ghost, when he had a love he would have fought for. That errant thought shamed him a bit. It had been different then. _He _had been different then.

Erik muttered to the floor, "I have never wanted to harm you." His back was bowed and his head down. It was a confession wrenched from a set of truths Raoul supposed Erik never thought he needed to say.

And Raoul was disappointed that he believed him. "I know that. That's not…"

"But I have," Erik interrupted.

Raoul paused. He almost could not believe Erik admitted it.

The older man moved to his knees. He lifted a hand, reaching towards Raoul's knee and Raoul watched with dull fascination, not certain how either of them would react, much less himself, if he did hazard to touch him again, but the masked man stopped himself.

The light caught his face, casting a shadow that seemed to spread where the bruising from Raoul's punch would sure to be in a few hours. Erik's hand dropped and his fingers grazed Raoul's shoes in a touch so gentle he would not have noticed it had he not been watching the motion so raptly.

Raoul ducked his head. This was not what he had hoped would happen. He had wanted to see Erik and somehow just… just forgive him, trust him again, as though trust were a candle he could just light in an instant. Could it not be that simple? He knew the answer to that question though. No. Obviously, it could never be that simple. And yet…

He looked up in time to see Erik rise to his feet slowly.

Before he left the box, Raoul asked, "You are not going to kidnap me?" He wished he could ignored the disappointment he heard in his own voice. If Erik kidnapped him, then at least then the decision would be taken out of his hands.

He considered it, truly considered it and Raoul was almost certain he was going to change his mind about leaving, but he shook his head.

"You know that I…" Raoul said suddenly and did not know how he was going to finish that sentence.

"You have planned a trip out of Paris," Erik finished for him.

"You saw." Of course he had. "And you are still letting me go?" Raoul was not trying to trap him and he knew the question was unfair because what could Erik say that would not somehow disappoint him? Yet, their future somehow depended on this one answer.

He was not disappointed because Erik's jaw clenched before he shook his head mutely.

No, he was not letting him go.

Raoul stared at the ground between them confused by his own relief. "Tomorrow," he said impulsively. Erik was not going to let him go and instead of hatred, he felt comfort at the thought. That was a change in the pattern. "I cannot…" He looked at the shoe Erik had touched. "Talk. Can we talk?"

"About?"

Raoul shook his head unable to look him in the eye still. "Does it matter? Maybe we can figure out how to make each other something other than miserable."

Erik looked about to refute that statement, to say that they had been perfectly happy before he kissed Christine. Instead, he nodded slowly. "You are staying."

"I am." Raoul had a sinking feeling that Erik would get the wrong idea, that somehow he would think violence between them had somehow fixed the distance that had come from their argument. Although he knew that their scuffle had not been the solution, he could not fully explain what had changed. The opera ghost was finally trying to compromise and Raoul was not going to let him be the only one fighting for their relationship.

Erik's lips were pressed tightly together. He was not smiling and Raoul supposed that was a victory too because he knew Erik understood that a truce between them did not presuppose the outcome.

As an afterthought, he said, "Stop harassing the others."

Erik glanced at him then and a shadow of the mischievous confidence spilled through his somber expression. "Tomorrow. Come to my home."

Raoul did not bother to address the fact that he had not agreed to stop harassing the others. "Your home?" he asked tentatively. He was unsure if going there would be wise. Erik could always reconsider kidnapping him and he would have made it that much easier. However, the other man had shown that he would be willing to let Raoul go, and Raoul was going to prove that he was willing to stay despite how far forgiveness seemed on the horizon.

"Listen to me play." Erik stood straighter. "We can talk if you find a moment to."

Raoul nodded. "Tomorrow."

He closed his eyes for a moment and thought back to this morning. It seemed so long ago already. So much had happened, but the sunrise on his balcony and the cold that had grounded him then were clear in his mind. He knew if he stared long enough, his vision would blur and the distance between here and some point on the horizon simply vanished.

When he opened his eyes, it was just in time to see Erik's diminishing shadow tremble from a flickering candle.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 10

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
>Chapter Review: Is that an end? It is. Nothing's very happy-go-lucky but in Gallery Piece, you know that it does get better. It's something at all that they've decided to stop avoiding each other. Maybe all Raoul really did need was to see Erik fall apart, to have a moment where they're somehow on equal ground and surprisingly, equal ground is basically them at each other's throats and on the floor of Box 5, tearing each other down just so that when they try to build themselves up again, Raoul can learn to trust Erik.<p> 


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